


To Catch a Thief

by metonymy



Category: Inception (2010), White Collar
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The brush of a hand against her side makes her flinch and clamp the wrist in her fingers, thumb digging into the soft spot beside the tendons. And then she looks up at the face and stares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Catch a Thief

**Author's Note:**

> For a writing challenge, prompt: "avenues of escape." This is the crossover that won't let go of my brain, I guess. Can be considered part of the same universe as my fic "Nothing Suits Me Like a Suit."

She runs into Neal in Manhattan, quite literally. The brush of a hand against her side makes her flinch and clamp the wrist in her fingers, thumb digging into the soft spot beside the tendons. And then she looks up at the face and stares.

"Neal?"

He looks down at her from under a truly ridiculous hat - Eames would approve, she thinks abstractly - and she can see him start to flick through excuses like the IDs he used to shuffle, and then it clicks and he gives her a grin. It's not as goofy as some of the ones she used to evoke from him, but it's certainly broad enough. Not as brittle and charming and cold as those used for marks.

"Ariadne. What a surprise. I thought you were supposed to be in Paris," he says. She releases his wrist and he twists it around to clasp hers in a strange variation on a handshake. "What are you doing in New York?"

"Work," she answers, shrugging one shoulder. Nice and vague, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Working? You're not slaving away at some big-name firm?" Not in that outfit, he refrains from adding, eyes flickering over her scarf and jeans. She still dresses like a student.

"No, I... I work all over the place. Consulting." It sounds awkward, and she's still not used to saying it. And even less used to explaining just why she dropped out of architecture and design to pursue the lucrative and exciting world of mind crime. "It's a long story."

"Tell it to me over a drink," he suggests, hand in his pocket.

"Neal!" Someone's shouting his name from halfway down the block, and both their heads jerk towards the voice. A perfectly ordinary guy in a perfectly boring suit is glaring at them in a proprietary sort of way, and she glances up at Neal with a quirked brow. He presses a business card into her hand and gives her a grin and a wink.

"The number works, I promise," he says, and she waves, tucking the card behind her phone. When she looks at it later she laughs. Consulting. It covers a variety of sins.


End file.
